


The Edge of Glory

by neversaydie



Series: Somewhat Damaged [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Clint Needs a Hug, Depression, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Past Abuse, Phil is an Idiot, References to Suicide, Somewhat Damaged 'verse, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, relationships are hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't tear up, because he's a fucking adult and an assassin and god fucking damn he was expecting this to be the end, but not like this.</p><p>Clint lies there, alone, and doesn't cry.</p><p>He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, but he doesn't. fucking. cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Edge of Glory

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Please heed the warning for past abuse. Suicide attempt discussed, nothing graphic. Heavy emotional shit and flawed characters.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the feedback. I've had a tough few days and I think it shows in this, so I hope you'll still like it.
> 
> Phil is an idiot sometimes, you might be mad at him. Clint needs all the hugs.

"I didn't know it had gotten that bad, or I would have said something. I mean, a couple of days earlier you were full-on tweaking, I didn't think it'd be that fast of a turn-around—"

"It's fine Tony, honestly."

Clint's starting to wonder if Tony's in a swing himself, with the way he keeps falling over to explain what happened. Mostly why he didn't step in to help before the incident that everyone (except Clint) is calling a suicide attempt. Clint doesn't remember much about it himself, or about the preceding few days, but according to Natasha and Tony the facts don't look good. The hospital's willing to let him leave after they keep him under observation for a few more days, but even then he's only being discharged to the SHIELD medical facility.

There are no locks on any of the doors, the cord's been taken out of his pyjama pants, and Bruce had his pen confiscated yesterday. No one calls it suicide watch, but Clint knows that's what it is.

"If you play the game for a couple of days at SHIELD, they'll let you come back to the tower. They won't—"

"Tony."

Clint's starting to get irritated, and it kind of feels good. The reason Tony's here is supposedly to tell him about Phil, and he's not talking. Clint's drugged up to the eyeballs with fuck knows what at the moment, and feeling something apart from 'zombie' makes a nice change, but he wants some information. Now.

"Look, man. Bruce wouldn't tell me about Phil, he said it was better if I heard it from you. Now what the fuck is going on?"

"I don't know if it's the right—"

Clint cuts him off sharply. He doesn't have time for this shit.

"I just woke up from a suicide attempt and my partner isn't here. Tell me _what the fuck_ is going on."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry."

Tony rubs the back of his neck as he hesitates, and all of a sudden Clint can't breathe. Stark never hesitates, so something must be seriously wrong. What if Phil's finally decided he can't do this anymore, and he's left it to Tony to pass the news along to Clint? What if the Avengers got called in while Clint was out, and Phil got caught in the crossfire? What if Phil's—

"Natasha told me what happened."

Tony's voice breaks into Clint's spiral of doomed thinking, and he yanks himself out of it to listen. A frown breaks over his face as he tries to think of what the hell Natasha knew that he couldn't remember. Watching him carefully, Tony obviously realises that Clint doesn't know what he's talking about and lets out a short sigh.

"Okay. Awkward. Listen, we've both got shitty pasts, so I won't pretend to get all touchy-feely about yours, and you do the same for me next time, alright?" Clint is extremely agreeable to those terms, and nods. He doesn't want to talk about his feelings with Tony Stark any more than the next relatively sane person.

"So, you bolted out of your apartment. Phil called Natasha in to help find you. Apparently he triggered you into some kind of flashback."

Now he remembers.

"Shit."

"He told Nat what had happened, because apparently this isn't the first time they've teamed up when the hawk flies his nest." Usually Tony would get at least a punch on the arm for the stupid pun, but Clint's ashen-faced and doesn't even grimace. "Basically, they weren't sure if him being here when you woke up was the best idea. No one knew what kind of state you'd be in, and he didn't want to put you back by setting off any PTSD shit again if you were in a bad way."

"Okay." Clint can follow the logic, no problem. But he's been awake for over a day now, relatively fine, and Phil's still not here. He swallows, hard, and tries to keep his shit together and his attention focused through the tranquillised smog in his brain. "So why hasn't he come by now, since I'm okay?"

Tony hesitates again, and Clint's pretty sure the conflicted expression is becoming one of his most hated sights.

"Honestly, I haven't seen him since before you woke up." The billionaire looks like he wants to be anywhere in the world but here, and the feeling is mutual as far as Clint's concerned. "He was here until you opened your eyes. After that, I don't know. If what Nat said is true, he should probably keep his distance for a while anyway."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He can tell there's something bitten back just behind Tony's teeth, and Clint is starting to get pissed off that no one will tell him anything outright. His head already feels like it's full of cotton candy: people talking in riddles all the time doesn't fucking help.

"He'll be lucky if I don't knock him out the next time I see him. Let alone what Natasha will do when she gets her hands on him."

"What the fuck are you talking about? He hasn't done anything." Clint bristles, because he doesn't take kindly to people threatening Phil, but he still doesn't know what the hell Tony's talking about.

"He fucking hit you, Clint."

"No, Tony, that's not—" Clint cuts himself off, making sure he's remembering right before he tries to correct the situation. Someone got their wires crossed, somewhere, and he needs to fix it before he goes any further. "We were arguing, about meds and me not cooperating with treatment, and I got in his face—"

"It doesn't fucking matter what you did, it doesn't give him the right to hit you." And this is the most surreal conversation that Clint's ever been part of, but Tony is deadly serious.

He's glad they agreed not to get touchy-feely about their pasts, because 'hey man, I got beat up as a kid too' isn't really a way Clint wants to bond.

"No, that's—he didn't hit me, Tony."

"You don't have to defend him."

"I'm not." And he's actually not angry, because what's scrawled all over his friend's face is worry, not anger. Tony's concerned because he gives a crap about him, and that brings him down from pissed off to just wanting to clear this whole mess up.

"I can kill someone with my bare hands a dozen ways, d'you really think I'd put up with someone doing that to me again?"

"Doesn't mean you wouldn't take it from someone you love."

"He didn't hit me, Tony. I swear to God."

Tony looks like he doesn't believe him, but he takes in Clint's open expression and relents, nodding. Clint's just glad he doesn't have to get further into it, because he's always hated talking about this shit, and when Phil's being accused it doesn't exactly help. Tony looks slightly apologetic, which is always surprising. Maybe he knows how much it sucks to have to discuss this stuff, especially when he doesn't want to.

"It's not like we thought he would, but…"

"It's okay, I get it." 'Thanks for looking out for me' doesn't get said, but they both know it's in there, somewhere. Clint sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillows he's propped up on, tiredly. "Can you please talk to Nat?"

"Yeah. She's the one who—" Tony pauses once more, and Clint swallows a groan of frustration. "Wait, he must have done something for Natasha to get the wrong idea in the first place."

"He grabbed my arms." Clint explains, flatly, not wanting to think about it again. "That's all."

Knowing not to push the subject, Tony nods. Clint's relieved; his mess is nearly cleared up, as long as Tasha doesn't get the wrong idea again and go on the warpath. Everything's nearly fixed, except the most important part.

"Can you get hold of Phil, please? Tell him to get his ass down here?"

"I, uh…"

His eyes had slipped closed with fatigue, and now they snap back open. He's fixed everything, why is Tony still hesitating?

He looks up, and there was no pity on Tony's face when they skirted around his shitty childhood, but now it sits there clear as day. This isn't going to be good. He braces himself.

"Clint, when I said I hadn't seen him, I meant it. No one has. Nobody knows where he's gone, no one can get in touch with him. Fury says he took leave, apparently even he doesn't know anything else. He's disappeared, as far as we can tell, and apparently doesn't want to be found."

"But he…"

He doesn't tear up, because he's a fucking adult and an assassin and _god fucking damn_ he was expecting this to be the end, but not like this.

He turns his face away from Tony and doesn't fucking cry, staring at the purple flowers by the bed that he knows are from Phil. Purple fucking flowers to go with the purple fucking uniform he doesn't even wear anymore, _god damn_. Tony tries to speak once or twice, but Clint isn't listening and in the end he gives up and leaves him alone, the door swinging shut behind him with a full-stop click.

Clint lies there, alone, and doesn't cry.

He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood, but he doesn't. fucking. cry.

*

He gets discharged to SHIELD.

He gets discharged to the tower.

Phil never shows.

He doesn't call.

He doesn't write.

He doesn't send a fucking text message.

He stays away.

Clint gets the message.

*

When Phil finally comes, Clint's on the roof.

He's been drinking for a few hours by the time he picks the familiar footsteps out of the wind, but he's not drunk. He'd broken into Tony's liquor cabinet again, more out of habit than anything, but he's not really into getting wasted tonight. He's too numb. Still, Clint empties his glass with a fortifying swig as he hears Phil approach. Dutch courage.

He speaks first.

"You knew I was crazy when you met me."

It's a statement, not an accusation.

"I knew you were a kid who'd been alone and not eating or sleeping for God knows how long."

Phil doesn't walk forwards, and Clint doesn't turn around. They skirt around each other, neither sure how this is going to play out, or if the other even wants them there. Clint keeps drinking his stolen whiskey and digs his fingers into the concrete where he sits. Tries not to think about falling.

"You were on the run, I figured it'd got to you."

"I wasn't on the run." Clint gives up on the glass and drinks from the bottle. White trash as ever. If things happen how he thinks they will, he has no reason to try and impress Phil anymore. "Just no one ever caught me."

"And you'd have let them." It isn't a question, but Clint nods anyway. There's a drily humoured edge creeping into Phil's voice, and it makes him ache to turn around, but he doesn't. He can't keep it together if he looks at Phil, and he needs to stay focused.

"That's a new twist on suicide by cop."

"I like to be original."

There's a long silence. Clint takes another drink and they both watch the city below. The streets never sleep, just like him, and he finds it soothing on long nights. He holds onto the constant motion of traffic and people now, hoping it will keep him steady when Phil's footsteps retreat, from the roof and from his life.

"You can walk away, y'know. You have a choice."

Clint's voice is quiet, but resolute.

He's not in a swing, he's not depressed; this is just logic.

"I wouldn't blame you. I won't be mad."

There's another pause that stretches into minutes, and Clint swallows down bitter, angry tears. He'd tried to be prepared for this, told himself he'd be fine, but when it comes to it he's not ready at all. He's not ready to let Phil go, but he loves him enough that he will. He loves him enough to not drag him down.

The silence carries on, and Clint knowing he's doing the right thing doesn't stop it from hurting like hell.

"You're so fucking stupid sometimes."

He almost jumps when Phil speaks, harsh in a way Clint never expected to hear directed at him.

For a horrible second, he thinks 'here it comes,' braces himself, and then:

"Do you really think so little of yourself…" Phil trails off, and then his arms are flung around Clint's shoulders and the wall breaks completely on Clint's composure.

He twists uncomfortably to bury his face in Phil's neck and fucking _sobs_.

"I _love you_ , you moron. I wouldn't leave you if someone held a gun to my head. And they frequently have. I was coming to apologise for being a fucking idiot. I would never leave you." He's squeezing Clint tightly and rocking him back and forth as he cries, and it only makes him cry harder. "I love you. I fucking love you, so much."

"You didn't come." He's trying to catch his breath in gasps, stuttering brokenly like a weeping child, but he doesn't give a fuck. Phil pulls him closer, gathering him up in his arms like he wants to keep him there forever. Clint beats his fist against his partner's chest in anger and Phil just holds him through it, weathers the storm. "I was in the hospital for two fucking weeks and you never came."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." And it sounds like even Phil's crying now, and Clint feels like everything's been shaken loose at once. The torrent's raging, and neither of them can put their finger back in the dam anymore. "I thought it was the right thing to do, and it wasn't. I was scared and I thought I was doing the best thing for you. I was wrong. I was such an idiot. I'm so fucking sorry."

"Just don't—" he's cut off jerkily by his own sobs, and Phil's on his knees beside him now, rubbing his back and pressing kisses into his hair. "Don't _do that_. Don't fucking leave and then come back and make me think… You can't jerk me around like that, Phil."

"I know, I'm sorry. I freaked out, and I shouldn't have." He sits down and lets Clint collapse against him. The archer snakes his arms around Phil's waist and hugs back just as tightly as he's being held. Gets snot and tears all over Phil and neither of them fucking care because they're together. "I'm here now, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

They cling to each other above New York.

Phil whispers into Clint's hair, and they both cry, and nothing is fixed. If anything, they're more broken than ever. But they both want to fix things, and that's what matters. Clint's crazy, Phil's scared to death, but they want to make it work. And, as criminals the world over have learned, nothing stops Phil and Clint from doing what they set out to do.

They'll make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> There's now a sequel to this series called 'All My Own Stunts', which can be found if you click on my username!


End file.
